


Youth

by Ships_ahoy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, M/M, and puberty and hormones probably play a large role theyre probably main characters man, fluff and painfully awkward boys, its just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ships_ahoy/pseuds/Ships_ahoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your friendship with John Egbert begins in a park, where the breeze cuts cooler than Texas and the grass stains elbows and knees.</p><p>And, ironically enough, it's in the very same park twelve years later, where your friendship with John Egbert comes to an ultimate end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 5 Years

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday fic for Kiwi, who wanted John and Dave in a park. Have a lovely day you butt!

_Your name is Dave Strider, you are 5 years old and you don’t need a best friend._

 

Although your older bro seems to think differently as he gives a heavy sigh and slumps back against the bench you were both sat on. 

“Come on, kid. It’s a park, these places were made for you… go play, make some friends.”

He gives your shoulder a small nudge and you turn a pair of pointed shades to meet a larger version of themselves, your mouth set in a stubborn line and your hands clinging tighter to the floppy armed puppet you held against your chest. You didn’t want to make any new friends. You didn’t like it here, where the wind cut cooler than the Texas heat you were used to, and the people spoke differently to how you and Bro spoke. 

“I’m fine right here,” you reply and watch as his lips twitch down into a small frown before you turn your attention back out across the park.

It was nothing special, a set of swings, a climbing frame and monkey bars, slide, merry-go-round, playhouse, and to the side a small open field for ball games. It was just a normal playground, full of normal kids and bored looking parents sitting around the edges. Your older brother looked out of place here with the clean cut adults sending him curious looks, and you just want to go home.

You turn to make your request clear when you’re suddenly cut off, legs stilling from where they were swinging on the bench as Bro takes hold of your arm and pulls you up to your feet, moving you in front of him.

“Lil’ man, hey, come on,” He leans forward on the bench, hands resting on your arms before they reach to take Cal from out of your grasp, “We’re gonna be in this town a while, and I don’t want you getting lonely. Can you at least try and make some friends… for me?”

You catch the way his eyebrows tip up above his shades, a small sign of expression that has you releasing a quiet huff in response. You wanted Cal back, you wanted to go home… but you also wanted more than anything for Bro to be proud of you for being a big kid right now.

“M’kay, I guess.”

“Awesome. Now let’s see… what about that little dude over there? He looks like he could do with a bit of the Strider blessing, hm?”

You turn in the direction Bro was nodding, eyes falling on a boy stood on the playing field by himself, struggling with what seemed to be the act of sticking a large twig into the grass. He was a mess of skinny legs in shorts, glasses slipping down his nose and black hair wild around his face. You think the way he pulls his socks half way up his shins is kinda dweeby, and you turn to give Bro a ‘look’ but he’s already nudging you away with one hand.

Shoulders slumping, you drag your feet as you make your way across the grass, growing closer to the struggling boy with each step and feeling your face burn brighter in embarrassed response.

You notice he has a ghostbusters band-aid on his knee, and what looks suspiciously like a pokemon on his shirt. You have to give him credit that squirtle is pretty cool, if nothing else about this kid was.

“What’re you doing?”

His head snaps up from where he’d been focused on pushing the end of the stick into the dirt, wide blue eyes hitting your shades with a slightly surprised look before he breaks into a grin. His teeth are a little crooked and too big for his mouth, but then again, one of your front teeth was currently completely missing so you couldn’t judge.

“I’m creating a goal, I’m gonna play ball… see? That other stick is the other goal post, you gotta kick the ball between them!”

“I know how to play.”

You give a quiet sniff, expression stubbornly blank as your fingers twist against your shirt nervously. Seeming pleased with his goal positioning, the boy straightens himself up and wipes dirty palms on his shorts. He’s just the tiniest bit taller than you, although you figure he’s around the same age, and you can feel your skin tingle under the scrutiny of his gaze.

“You can play with me if you want! It’ll be funner with more people than one, I’m sure.”

He’s already moving to collect the ball by his other makeshift goalpost, kicking it across to you clumsily so that it veers off to one side and you simply watch it roll off onto the grass. A quiet moment passes and you turn to look back across at Bro, who gives you a thumbs up as if in approval.

It’s enough to spur you on to move and collect the ball under your shoe, turning back to the boy and pushing your shades further up your nose.

“I’m Dave Strider, what’s ya name?”

You seem proud of your name, as though being a Strider was enough to make you well known. He only seems slightly amused in response though, and it makes your cheeks burn hot, shoe slipping awkwardly on the ball.

“John Egbert. You talk real funny.”

“There ain’t nothing wrong with how I talk. If there’s anythin’ funny here, then it’s your dorky name.”

His brow furrows before he shakes his head, and like magic, his grin was back again as though you’d never insulted him at all. And he was moving towards you quickly, swiping the ball from under your foot to run with it and kick it between the two twig goals. 

“One point to me!”

You stare at him, astonished, before spurring into action as he collects the ball again, running back out onto the field. You weren’t going to let some dweeb beat you in front of Bro, especially when he moved so clumsily and spent too much time laughing to really focus on where he was kicking the ball.

He matches your tackles with energy though, and it’s not long until the two of you are running a little short of breath, each goal either giving you the motivation to move quicker or filling you with a victory that almost made you feel like maybe… just maybe, you were actually having fun. On a quick run towards the goal, he was fast on your heels, his giggles filling your ears as you dart your eyes up for only a second to look where you were running.

It’s at this point that a foot catches around your ankle, a cheap trick on John’s part to have you tripping forward. You hit the grass hard on elbows and knees, watch as John takes the ball from where you’d just had it to head towards the goal himself.

It’s silly, and maybe it’s because you’re embarrassed about falling more than the fall actually hurt, but you find yourself holding back the sting of hot tears, mouth pulled into a frown. 

That wasn’t fair, John wasn’t fair, and he was stupid and mean and you didn’t want to be his friend at all. You were tired of playing ball, you were tired of this new town, you were tired, tired, tired.

You push yourself up onto your knees, fingers curling angrily in the grass and a loud upset sniff escaping before you could hold it back. Your vision was becoming blurry, but you really hoped you wouldn’t really cry because you didn’t want Bro to see you crying over something so stupid.

“Hey, are you alright?”

The voice has your attention darting upwards, eyes catching first on the ball abandoned just before the goal, and then on the concerned looking John holding a hand out to you. He was chewing at his lip, a look of worry on his expression which makes you think he knows he did wrong, and somehow, it’s enough to calm you.

You give a quick nod and a final sniff before you accept his hand and let him help you back to your feet again. Your knees were grass stained, shirt muddy, but you don’t seem to mind because John was sending you the smallest of smiles in apology, his fingers still curled around yours as he gives you a gentle tug.

“Let’s not play ball anymore, I bet I can swing higher than you on the swings though!”

“Nah, I’m really good,” you reply quietly, slowly letting your embarrassment wash out of you as you let John guide you towards the swings eagerly, “This one time my bro pushed me and I swung all the way over the top like in a full circle, I swear.”

“Whoa, that’s so cool!”

“Yeah.”

You both come to realize that you were right when you said you could swing higher than John, and although you don’t quite make it all the way over the top, you do swing so high you swear you could reach out and touch the clouds. You like the way it makes you feel like you’re flying, scuffed sneakers swinging out in front of you before your legs curl and you fall back to earth again.

When you look across to John, he’s swinging a beat behind you, wind whipping his dark hair back as he swings forward and you swing back, passing each other in the middle. He makes a game of saying a sentence one word at a time, each new word coming as you pass each other until you’re both in a fit of giggles that has your stomach hurting and your fingers burning from where they held tight against the ropes.

He dares you to jump off as the two of you begin to slow with weariness, and his eyes are bright behind his glasses so that you smirk and accept. This time when you hit the grass and stumble into a roll, tears are the last thing on your mind, grass getting caught in blonde hair as you wait for John to follow you.

He shows you the slide next, sitting at the top backwards before he pushes off and slips down the wrong way round, landing with a bump on the floor at the bottom. You watch him snort out a laugh before swinging yourself quickly down the slide so that he squeals and has to scramble quickly out of the way of your approaching feet. He’s definitely the silliest person you’d ever met, but you kinda like it, and you barely even realize that playing with him wasn’t so much for Bro’s sake anymore as it was for your own enjoyment.

It doesn’t help that he seems equally as impressed with you, every tease and push he sent your way also coming paired with a look of awe when you mention Bro’s sword collection, or a laugh at a funny face you pulled in response to his own. You take satisfaction from the way he gasps when you let slip a naughty word, a serious look settling on your face as you reveal that Bro said ‘only big kids said words like that’, but it was okay because you were fairly sure 5 years was old enough to class you as a big kid.

When you show off on the monkey bars, he watches from where he was attempting to climb up the fireman’s pole instead of sliding down it. Hooking your knees over one of the bars, you hang upside down, only just managing to remember your shades in time as a hand flies up to steady them on your nose. Your shirt slips to expose your stomach, free hand swinging loosely in the air and knees locking against the bar to hold you steady.

“Why’d you wear those shades? They’re weirder than any shades I’ve seen.”

“My bro gave ‘em to me. They’re cool, because everything he does is cool, I’m gonna be just like him when I grow up.”

John seems to consider something for a second before he gives a nod, swinging himself around the pole one last time before making his way across to you.

“If you wanna be cool then you have a long way to go, Dave.”

He gives a cheeky grin and your lips purse together, mind scrambling for a good comeback as you feel the blood rush to your head. You’re starting to really regret being upside down. Especially when you feel John grab at your sides, pushing up onto his tiptoes to blow a raspberry against the exposed skin of your stomach.

You give a yelp, hands flying out to grab at him only to swipe through thin air as he jumps back in a wave of laughter. It takes you barely a second to unhook your legs from the bar, swinging back down to land on the floor already running, chasing after John. 

At some point, the two of you seem to forget the reason you were even chasing after each other, because once the energy wears thin and the breathing becomes labored, you let John take hold of your hand again and the two of you head for the playhouse.

The house was nothing more than a small hut with two rows of benches inside, enough to fit four kids of your size with big enough imaginations to turn the small cabin into anything they wanted it to be. For now though, it served merely as a resting place for you and John, cheeks flushed and feet kicking at each other from where you sat opposite him.

After a moment, he glances through the small window, pulls a paper packet from his pocket and starts to unfold the top of it.

“I got these from the kitchen cupboard when my dad wasn’t looking, here…”

He holds the packet in your direction and you reach inside, pull free two jelly beans. They’re colourful against your muddied fingernails, red and orange. Your favourite. When you drop them into your mouth, you only just remember your manners.

“Thanks,” you mumble around chewing, silently glad that John trusted you enough to share his secret with you.

“Which school do you go to?”

John drops a handful of jelly beans into his own mouth, too many at once so that you can see he’s having difficulty chewing. It causes a laugh, which whistles slightly as the air blows through the gap in your teeth.

“I don’t got a school yet, me and Bro moved here last week. He showed me one when we first came and said I was gonna start next Monday. It had a green roof.”

John seems to light up, his mouth opening before he remembered it was full and he makes do with wild gesturing instead, pointing to himself. Once he’d swallowed most of the contents in his mouth, he’s quick to explain.

“That’s my school! It’s my first year in school ever. You’ll probably be in my class too, I can show you round I know all the best places on the playground. I even know whe-“

“John!”

The voice in the distance has both of your heads turning towards the window. Across the park you can see a man in a white hat scanning the surroundings, his smart shirt and tie reminding you of a proper business man like out of the catalogs.

“Crap, that’s my dad. I gotta go.”

John frowns and stands from the bench, head almost brushing the ceiling of the playhouse as he holds out the bag of jelly beans in your direction. You glance between his face and the bag several times before accepting it from him with a grin you couldn’t hold back even if you’d tried.

“Thanks, John… I’ll… I’ll see you at school?”

Your tongue darts out across your lips nervously, legs swinging on the bench so that there was a repetitive scuffing noise of your shoes against the wooden floor. John gives a beam of a smile in response.

“Great! See you ‘round Dave!”

And then he was gone, pulling open the door of the playhouse to run fast across the park towards his waiting dad. You watch through the window as he throws his arms around the older man, before instantly pulling back to talk to him with an eagerness which practically radiated from every movement in his body. You idly chew at the remainder of the jelly beans as you observe, waiting until John Egbert had completely disappeared from view before you shove the packet into your pocket and start to make your own slow way back to Bro.

He’s texting on his phone when you reach him, his head tilting up at your approach to send you the smallest of smiles.

“Well, well, well, will you look who finally decided to join us again, Cal? Yeah, that’s right, looks like someone was too busy having fun with his new best friend.”

Your cheeks flush and he nudges one gloved fist gently against your cheek in tease before moving to shake the grass from your hair fondly. 

“His name is John.”

“John… easy enough to remember. Wanna tell me all about him on the walk home? You can take the back seat.”

Bro hooks Cal’s arms around your neck so that he hangs low across your back, before he crouches down in front of you, offers up his own back for you to clamber up onto. You quickly accept and he hoists you up, your arms clinging around his neck just as the puppet did to your own. He’s warm and solid, and you find yourself growing tired from so much running around and climbing and swinging, so that when you rest your head against his shoulder, the gentle rhythm of him walking lulls you into drowsiness.

“He’s pretty cool for a dweeb, I guess,” you mumble against his shirt and when you feel the low rumble of Bro’s laugh against your chest, you allow yourself the smallest of smiles in return.


	2. 10 years

_Your name is Dave Strider, you are 10 years old, and John Egbert is your best friend._

 

“Whoa there, metal mouth.”

“Shut up!”

John gives you a hard shove, sending you almost falling off the cafeteria bench as you fight back the smug smirk on your lips. He glares you down, a loud huff slipping past a set of newly acquired braces lining his teeth like train tracks, his lips closing over colored blue and silver metal. 

You personally thought the braces looked kinda right on John, although you knew there was no way he would let you say that, so you keep it to yourself. Instead you offer him the cookie from your lunchbox, leaning sideways where you sat to hold it out in his direction wordlessly. He gives it a frown, his cheeks flaring up as he pushed his own lunch box away from him.

“It still hurts to eat… the dentist said it might be like this at first.”

“Whoa, dude, that sucks. You can have my juice instead if you want?”

He looks across to you, and he has a small smudge of paint on his cheek from art class, his shoulders slumped in tantrum. You take the carton of apple juice from your ninja turtles box, slide it across the lunch table before your attention is firmly fixed back on your sandwich. It takes him a moment, but you catch the way his fingers curl around the juice out the corner of your shades.

“Thanks!”

“Don’t worry about it, tin grin.”

When you look across this time though, you catch him smiling, his fingers scrambling with the straw on the juice box. After taking a long drink, he slides the cake from his own lunch box in your direction in return. He waits for you to accept it, sandwich forgotten in light of cake, iced as blue as his eyes, making your mouth water. He’s ready when you lift it to your mouth, his hand whipping out fast to nudge against your elbow and send the cake flying up into your face.

You quickly turn your head, blue icing smudging from your nose across your cheek as you fly a curse in John’s direction. He’s barely able to hear it over the sound of his own laughter though, juice snorting up through his nose as he erupts, braces exposed in a smile which has your face burning in its stoic expression. 

At the table across from you in the cafeteria, a group of rowdy older boys huddle closer and laugh among themselves. As you wipe the icing from your face, you catch one of them pointing in your direction, or more precisely, in John’s direction before he says something quiet and the group fall into a chorus of snickers.

Beside you, John was on the comedown from his prank high, wiping at the juice he’d spilt down his shirt and smiling the widest you’d seen since getting to school that morning. 

“Hey, tinsel teeth!”

The words cut harsh through the buzz of the lunchroom, your stomach dropping and hand freezing where it was rubbing your cheek clean. John had heard it too, because you sense him grow tense beside you, his smile faltering as you both look across to the group stationed a few feet away. And they were all looking right back at you, eyes wild like predators and grins lit with a cruelty only found in schoolchildren. 

“He’s like the terminator, I bet he eats people… don’t get too close.”

“What do you think would happen if we held a magnet near his mouth?”

They’re laughing, taunting, and it sends anger burning hot and fast through your veins like fire. When you glance at John, he’d fixed his gaze determinedly on the table in front of him, face red and lips pressing hard together. He purposefully doesn’t catch your eye, and there is a sinking feeling in your chest as you realize how easy it was for your friend’s smile to disappear so quickly.

“Brace face.”

There is a loud slam as your hands come down hard on the table, sending lunchboxes jolting and a wave of hush across the lunchroom as kids stop talking to look your way. You’d stood up without even realizing it, the skin on your palms and fingers stinging hot from the impact, but not burning as much as your face, set in a hard expression.

“Dave…”

John tugs at your shirt to try and get you to sit down again, but you ignore him, eyes fixed on the group of boys who were staring right back, incredulous. There is a beat of silence, only the sound of blood rushing fast in your ears to break it before one of the boys speaks. And this time, the whole cafeteria is listening.

“Whoa there, guys, better stop picking on chomper or we’ll get in trouble with his little boyfriend.”

There is a burst of laughter which spreads from kid to kid like a tidal wave, and you feel John give you another desperate tug before you move a hand to swipe him off again. 

“Leave him alone.”

“Hah! Or what? You’ll poke our eyes out with your crappy shades? I know about you, Strider… I hear your brother is a freak.”

The words hit you like a brick wall, and you feel winded for barely a second before the anger returns, and it’s more than just a fire now, but more of an inferno. Fists curling by your sides, you kick back the bench behind you, causing John to give a yell of surprise as he’s pushed backwards with it, his eyes wide in concern. But you can’t just let them get away with this, and before you know it, you’d moved around the table to shove the ringleader of the offending group straight off his bench.

“Dave!”

John’s voice is louder this time, a warning. You feel the crack against the back of your head shake your entire thought process, movements reverting back to sheer instinct as you swing round to land a return punch in the second boys gut.

It’s almost a spectacle to see how fast a full blown fight can break out, only seconds passing before you were fending off a group of four older boys, dodging and darting only giving you so much of an advantage against their swings and shoves and kicks. Blows hit in dull aches, pain ringing as loud as the encouraging cheers of kids surrounding you. Someone grabs at your hair, bringing tears to your eyes at the sting before you kick him hard in the family jewels, smirking as he falls to the floor in front of you.

Victory doesn’t last long though, and as any fight of four against one would do, you find yourself stumbling under their hits, falling as a foot swipes out hard against your shin. A fist catches your mouth on the way down and you taste blood instantly, lip stinging and body jarring as you land awkwardly. Your shades hit the floor, bending and breaking right in half in front of you.

You can hear John yelling, look up to watch him launch himself right at the guy who’d floored you in a flash of blue and black, which has you smirking despite the pain and defeat. You reach to grab for your broken shades, fingers curling tight around the glass before you feel yourself tugged to your feet, exposed red eyes darting upwards to meet the angry face of a teacher.

“Fuck.”

…

He sits with you on the edge of the bed in the school nurse’s room, the two of you listening to the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. The nurse had cleaned up your split lip and made sure there was nothing more than bruises left marking your skin, but you wouldn’t let her throw away the shades you clung to in pieces.

John was swinging his legs slowly, sitting close enough to have his arm brushing up against your own in a way you find comforting. Neither of you had said anything since the nurse had left you alone to tend to some kid having an allergic reaction in class, and you’re determined not to be the one to say something embarrassing. 

John seems to know this though, because it’s him who gives a loud sigh and speaks first.

“Thank you… for standing up for me like that. Even if you were a super massive dumbass for doing it.”

You pull your eyes up away from the floor to look at him, and he sends you a smile that somehow makes all the bruises and cuts worth the while. You blink in response, give a gentle shrug as though it was all nothing.

“Those guys were a whole tankload of douchebag anyways. It’s only me allowed to call you things like that, ‘kay?”

“Got it, Dave.”

“Zipper mouth.”

“Asshole.”

You both break into a fit of quiet giggles and you try to ignore the way it makes your lip sting. You turn your attention back down to your shades, turning the different pieces over in your fingers until it made you too sad to look at them and you finally drop the broken glass onto the desk by the bed. You’d had those shades as long as you could remember, from back when they were too big for your face and barely hung on your ears, leaving Bro laughing and saying you’d grow into them one day.

“I’ll buy you a new pair.”

You send John a surprised look, lips parting slightly to argue against him. He sends you a stern expression to quickly quiet you, stubborn blue eyes meeting red so that you find that all you can do is nod your thanks.

You know he’d probably get in more trouble with his dad for the fight than you would be with Bro, and you’re grateful that he stuck with you despite it. The room seems quiet around you, thoughts of the trouble the two of you were both going to be in with the school teachers seeming to bounce off the white walls and push against your shoulders heavy. The bedsheets give under the trail of your hand, seeking out John’s own between you so that you can rest on top of it gently.

You’d meant it only as a sign of comfort, a reassurance in the form of heated skin making contact in the cold room. The twist of John’s hand comes welcome though, and though neither of you look at each other as he interlaces his fingers with your own, squeezes gently against your hand, you know he’s feeling the same sudden calmness that you are.


	3. 15 years

_Your name is Dave Strider, you are 15 years old and John Egbert is your best friend._

 

“Jade just text saying she’s grounded for accidentally shooting the mailman with her BB gun, and Rose is still ill which means that it’s just the two of us, I guess.”

John looks across to you from where he’d been reading the movies showing on the cinema board, lips twitching down into the smallest of frowns before he shrugs it away again.

“They’re both so lame, they’re gonna miss out on all the hot Cage action.”

“If you think we’re watching that shitty rerelease of Ghostrider in 3D then you have another thing coming, Egbert. I’m still a whole fuckload of confused over why they decided that film was worthy of a rerelease, I’m pretty sure it sucked when it first came out, and it still sucks now.”

When you tear your attention back to him, he’s sending you a stubborn glare, lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval which you return with a sarcastic smirk. He was so predictable sometimes, it was easy to tease him without him cottoning on that you were doing it on purpose. You tip your eyebrows up above the shades he’d bought you, silently inquiring as to whether he had a problem, and he gives a huff before snapping his head back up to look at the movies.

“Fine. What about that action one where the guy gets framed for that murder and-”

“Nah. It’s got John Travolta in it, and although I try really hard to associate him with being all badass like in Pulp Fiction, I can’t forget when he played the mom in Hairspray. And, I dunno man, every time I see him I get that image of him macking on Christopher Walken and things get weird,” You shove your hands into your pockets, lazily scanning the board with a trained apathy, “How about the new Star Trek?”

He gives it a moment of consideration before nodding, seeming pleased to have come to a conclusion you could both agree on.

“Yeah, okay! You get the tickets, I’ll get the snacks.”

You soon realize that by ‘snacks’, John had meant he was planning on buying half the cinemas supply of popcorn and candy, his arms struggling to hold it all as he reunites with you, grin plastered on his face. He unloads the king size bucket of popcorn into your unwilling arms, already moving ahead of you towards the screens with an eagerness you couldn’t match even if you tried. You shuffle after him, hand over your tickets as you give hums of agreement to his rapid listing of Star Trek facts you didn’t really care about. It was nice to hear him sounding enthusiastic though.

The screen had already darkened by the time you both stumble in, and you earn a few dirty looks from hushed people when you whistle to get John’s attention from where he was moving down the steps ahead of you.

He swings round to face you, details hidden in his silhouette against the brightness of the screen.

“What?”

“Sit in the back row, the front is for dorks.”

“The back row is for couples.”

“Tsch, dream on, Egbert.”

You can’t see his expression but you are fairly sure that it’s scrambling for a comeback, and you give a huff of a laugh, turning away from him to walk along the back row of seats and sit yourself comfortably down in the middle. 

He joins you just as you are trying to position an easy way of resting the popcorn on your lap whilst also hooking your ankles over the seat in front. He clicks his tongue in disapproval of you, dunking his hand into the popcorn with enough enthusiasm to have it spilling over the edges of the tub, littering your shirt and lap with sweetened white kernels.

From the way his lips were tipped up in a smug smile, you’re fairly sure it was on purpose.

“Do you mind?”

“Do _you_ mind? I’m trying to watch the movie.”

He rolls his eyes before settling them on the screen in front of you, slumping back in his seat as the movie begins. He earns himself a hard glare when you push your shades up onto your head in order to watch the movie better, but he’s hardly paying attention by this point, shoving too much popcorn into his mouth.

You last only half an hour through the movie before you start to grow sleepy. Too many late nights spent messing about on the internet and mixing music taking its toll as your eyelids grow heavy. The colours blur on the screen, the dark quiet interrupted only by John fumbling with opening packets of skittles and M&Ms until you come to the conclusion that no one will notice if you just caught a bit of shut eye in the back seat. 

The next time you open your eyes, the movie is still playing, but it was now at a much more sideways kind of view, and it takes a few disorientated blinks for you to realize that you’d found your head resting on John’s shoulder. Except that wasn’t all, because amidst the overwhelming embarrassment now making your face burn, you notice that there was a slight weight on top of your own head, John’s cheek pressed into your hair. 

Your instant reaction is to panic, eyes flying wide and breathing picking up a notch as you try your hardest not to move. You wonder if he’d fallen asleep too, but then you catch his hand move, reaching for the popcorn to grab another handful.

Okay, so he’s awake, and therefore perfectly aware that the two of you are leaning up against each other in a way which would normally have him spewing out a whole litter of ‘no homo’s, and yet he didn’t seem to have plans to move any time soon? You’re confused, but you are hardly going to let him know that you’re awake. Because, damn, he’s kinda comfy, and warm, and his shirt smells like the cakes his dad was always baking, so it’s no wonder you’d gravitated his way in your sleep.

You let your eyes slip closed again, breathe him in and wonder what it would be like to wrap your arms around his middle, lean against him further. You think about how if he turned his head slightly, you might feel the soft exhales of his breathing against the top your head, and how much you sorta wanted to find out how well the two of you fit together in different ways. A quiet giggle drags your thoughts back to reality, something tight like fear twisting in your chest as you realize exactly how you’d been thinking about your best friend.

There was no way you would admit to yourself that you’d been thinking far too fondly about cuddling up with your best bro.

Especially a best bro who clearly thought it was hilarious to put popcorn in your hair, you soon realize, a stray piece dropping down and bumping up against your nose as John’s shoulder shakes gently with his laughing. God, he was an asshole.

You figure that even _you_ couldn’t keep up the charade of sleeping now, and as you give a fake stir, you feel his head snap up away from your own, putting the distance back between you. There’s something a little disheartening about it, but you don’t let yourself linger on the thought, tipping your head up with a quiet groan.

“Nice hairdo.”

You turn to send him a frown, his grin wide and smug enough to earn him a middle finger. A shake of your hair sends popcorn flying, one piece hitting a disgruntled looking man sat in the row in front, which causes both you and John to dissolve into a fit of hushed giggles. When you lean back in the seat, teeth exposed in a smile, you catch John looking at you out the corner of your eye. You can’t bring yourself to turn your head and catch his eye, but your cheeks light up anyways in a way you really hated.

His fingers in your hair have you jolting in surprise, causing another giggle from him as he pulls a final piece of popcorn from the blonde. And his lips are right by your ear, speaking quietly so as not to disturb anyone in the quiet theatre. It sends a shiver down your spine, a reaction you’re really starting to hate.

“Next time you fall asleep, I’m putting skittles up your nose.”

“Fuck off, Egbert.”

…

He comes round your apartment after the movie to play video games, and neither of you notice the sun growing low in the sky before it was too late and John was texting his dad to tell him he was staying at your place for the night. 

The two of you had shared a bed since you were just little kids, and it had never seemed strange before, neither of you had taken the time to question it as you’d grown older. But for the first time, you found yourself unable to look away as John had pulled his shirt over his head, exposing bare back, defined shoulderblades under lightly tanned skin. As he settles under the sheets beside you, blue eyes wide in the dark, you wonder at what point your kid best friend had become a little less ‘kid’ and a little more… well, this.

He glances your way and catches you staring, confusion washing over his expression before he laughs and chucks a pillow at your face. You take it with a frown before chucking it right back, tugging your own shirt over your head and feeling a little self-conscious about the strife scars which littered your chest. It was strange, because John had seen them a thousand times before and he’d never cared, often thinking they were cool when the two of you were younger. You’d been so proud of those first few little marks back then, letting John run his fingers over them until you’d dissolved into giggles from how it tickled.

Now, things seemed different, the heavy silence closing in on you in the dark as you both collapse back against the pillows on your double bed.

You can see his profile when you look across to him, lying on his back and facing the ceiling with a strange look on his face that you couldn’t quite read. When he finally speaks, it’s quiet and unsure.

“I’m thinking of asking Vriska out on a date…”

“Dude, what.”

He shifts on the bed to face you, his teeth dragging against his lower lip nervously as he continues.

“I mean, I heard that she likes me… and she’s sorta pretty and we get along really well-“

“She’s a bit of a bitch though. I heard she pushed Tavros down the stairs in third grade, and that’s why he’s in a wheelchair.”

“Dave! Shut up, that was only a rumor.”

You click your tongue and shrug your shoulders, rolling onto your back to look up at the ceiling instead of facing him. You didn’t want him to be able to see the strange conflict going on in your head over the idea of John and Vriska dating.

“She can be really nice if you took the time to really talk to her,” he continues, but the words seem to scream the biggest ‘no homo’ you’d ever heard in your life and it left you feeling a little sour. You didn’t enjoy feeling like this. You didn’t understand why you felt like this.

_You didn’t want John to date Vriska._

“Whatever man, if you think she’s hot then do what you want, I ain’t your mom.”

The words come out a little sharper than you’d intended, and you catch his expression flinch out the corner of your eye. So you turn onto your side to put your back to him, giving your shoulders a shrug and muttering about being tired in order to signal an end to the conversation.

You hear him give a heavy sigh of frustration, the movement of sheets as he rolled back away from you.

It takes him half an hour to fall asleep. You turn back to face him and watch the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the messy dark hair hitting the nape of his neck, the curve of his spine disappearing below the sheets. It takes you another hour to fall asleep, and your last thought is of the soft pressure of his cheek resting atop your head.


	4. 17 years

_Your name is Dave Strider, you are 17 years old, and John Egbert is your best friend._

 

It’s past midnight when you receive the text asking if you were still awake. And of course you are, your sleeping pattern hadn’t been in sync with the rest of the world in damn years, and you’re more than willing to get out of the apartment to meet his request to join him at the park.

It takes you less than ten minutes before the chill of the night air was cutting through your shirt, cooling your lips as you sucked in a large breath and released it in a sigh.

The park stretched out before you, smaller than you remember, not quite as colourful under the electric streetlamps as it had seemed all those years ago when your bro had brought you here in order to make friends. It was empty, the roundabout creaking slightly as a breeze tried to blow it into movement. Well, empty except for a one John Egbert sat rocking gently on one of the swings.

His head snaps up as you approach, a half-hearted smile gracing his lips before it’s gone again and he was looking down at his sneakers. He looked exactly as you’d hoped he wouldn’t, something tight twisting in your chest as you willed everything in you not to be a total ass in your attempts to cheer your best friend up.

“Hey.”

You sit yourself onto the swing next to him, gripping hard against the ropes as you tip your feet against the floor in order to match his gentle rhythm. He doesn’t reply to you, but you can see him chewing against his lip, obviously trying to figure out what it was he needed to tell you. After a second, you look away, fingers pushing into your jeans pocket to pull free a packet of cigarettes. You catch one between your teeth, hands moving to search for your lighter before you come to a quick halt.

His hand had darted out to knock the cigarette from your mouth, your lips left parted in surprise at the sudden disappearance before you turn to send him a frown.

“I told you to stop smoking those, dumbass. They don’t make you look half as cool as you think they do.”

He still wasn’t looking at you, but there was a gentle smirk to his lips which had your insides lifting with hope. You give a sigh, deciding against a sarcastic reply and instead crushing the dropped cigarette under your foot pointedly, eyebrows raised as you roll your head back in his direction.

“Well are you at least gonna explain to me why we’re freezing our asses off at the damn park so late at night?”

You tip your eyebrows up before you move to take off your shades, hooking them over the collar of your shirt so that you can pick out John’s details better in the dark. He looked nervous, and sad, and a little confused in the most wonderful combination, which had you desperate to reach out and touch him, comfort him somehow.

“Vriska broke up with me.”

“Oh.”

_Well done, Dave, very profound._

Your expression twists a little, brain scrambling for the right thing to say before it comes to a complete fucking halt and you’re left helpless in the silence. And he looks your way expectantly, his face as open as a book and his eyes locking on yours in that way which sent your heart pounding in the most painful kind of way.

“She said I wasn’t… involved with the relationship. That I was holding her back because my heart wasn’t in it,” he says quietly, giving a shrug and looking away, out into the park, his lips pressing together hard.

“Oh god, dude, I’m sorry, I… I don’t know what to say, shit, I’m bad at things like this. I jus-“

“Dave, it’s fine.”

“Oh.”

You stop yourself from swinging slightly to look at him, fingers tightening almost painfully against the ropes. He turns to send you a soft smile, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment and his shoulders slumped in his blue hoodie.

“I didn’t really expect you to be all… ugh, I dunno. I guess I just didn’t wanna be alone.”

Your stomach sinks and you swallow hard, because it was happening again and you didn’t know how to stop it. The wanting to hold him, touch him, show him just how much you cared. You hated yourself for thinking it, but your tongue was burning with the words left unsaid, wishing you could just tell him that he’d never have to be alone so long as you were around.

Instead, you push hard with your feet, tipping yourself back before you swing forward again and let the cool air sting at your cheeks. 

“Bet I can swing higher than you.”

His expression lights up instantly, infectious grin imprinting on your own lips as you let all the scared thoughts be left behind with every swing higher you made. 

He seems determined to catch you up, each of your legs kicking out hard to propel yourselves forward, higher and higher. Your shadows in the yellow streetlamp light swing with you, casting out across the grass before racing back towards you again as you plummeted back to earth. John’s quiet huffs of breath join the scuffing of sneakers against the ground, coming far more often than when the two of you were five and your legs had been far shorter.

This time it’s him who reaches higher than you, his whoops of triumph echoing out across the empty park and hitting hard in your chest.

The effort leaves your swinging, and the two of you slowly start to lose height and speed. The sound of heavy breathing fills the air, and you catch the growing flush of John’s cheeks in the dark from exertion. Your hand finds his sleeve to tug his swinging to a stop, your sneakers dragging up grass and dirt as they slide across the ground to halt you both.

And you pull him with you away from the swings, only releasing as you reach the bottom of the slide. The rubber on the soles of your shoes squeak noisily against the metal of the slide as you scramble your way up to the top, hands grabbing at the railings to stop you falling as you momentarily lose your balance.

“I now pronounce myself, Dave Strider, lord of the slide, duke of the sick nasty metal slope which has housed more ass than a fine booty convention,” You shout from the top of the slide, arms flying wide, the breeze blowing blonde hair into your eyes, “In a speech of thanks, I’d like to say that I couldn’t have done it without the wonderful douchebag that is John Egbert. Come up on stage John, give the crowd some lovin’.”

You grab against the railing at the top of the slide with one hand, holding your other hand out towards John at the bottom. He laughs and accepts, letting you help him up the slide to stand beside you, looking out over an empty playground.

“Thank you, thank you! You’re looking beautiful tonight!”

The park stretching out in front replies with a quiet rustling of a stray candy wrapper blowing across the grass and you give a quiet snort of a laugh. John’s hands were thrown in the air, his eyes darting across to meet your own exposed ones with a brightness that hadn’t quite been there before. You just wanted him to be happy.

It takes him a little longer than usual to look away, his smile faltering for the briefest of moments before his head turns back down away from you again. Lowering his arms, he drops himself down to slip back down the slide, and your gaze follows him curiously, wondering what had caused that almost unnoticeable change in the way he had looked at you.

But there was little time to dwell on it as you watch him move eagerly towards the roundabout, jumping on top of it before settling down on the curved bench inside. You skid down the slide with a little less grace than you actually intended, but hey, you’d never claimed to be a great surfer. And then you were moving up to the roundabout, gripping hard at the metal railings to set it off spinning.

You run with it, shoes hitting the ground hard as John gives another whoop, the spinning picking up in speed until you were out of breath and the railings were starting to move faster than you could run, almost slipping out of your grasp. It’s at this point that you knew you had to jump on board also, but the task was more difficult than you remember, and as you leap onto the spinning surface, your balance is sent completely out and you stumble to the side, gripping hard at the railings. 

You look across to John, and he was laughing, hands in the air again and head tipped back so that the fast spinning flattened his hair on one side, blew cool wind through his splayed fingers. Your stomach lurches, and you try to put it down to the movement of the roundabout, but you know that’s not the real reason. And you’re so tired of feeling this way about your best friend without him knowing.

As the spinning starts to slow, you feel it’s safe enough to move across the surface, feet unsteady before you drop yourself down onto the bench beside him with an exhausted huff. You didn’t quite have the same energy as what you had when you were five years old.

You look across to John, and his head was still tipped back, looking up at the slowly spinning sky. He wasn’t laughing anymore, his smile seeming a little sadder. You swallow hard, wish you could be kids again with missing teeth and shared jelly beans. 

“Don’t get yourself hung up on her, dude… she was a controlling bitch. You deserve more.”

“I’m… I’m not hung up on her. Not really,” John says quietly, and then he sighs heavily and tips his head back up to look at you, “I think she was right. My heart wasn’t in it at all, and I think I might have liked her once, but she wasn’t…”

He stops and there was a hammering in your chest you couldn’t calm down, a dryness in your mouth as you speak.

“She wasn’t what?”

He shifts himself on the bench slightly, his eyes dropping away before they look back up at you. And they were really looking, as though trying to pick you apart, find some truth in the eyes you so often kept hidden. You refuse to look away, but it stings with every passing second. Your hand moves, fingers brushing against the back of his palm on the bench, sending electric sparks across your nerves.

“Don’t, Dave…”

He sounds terrified, his eyes wide and pleading with you to drop it, to leave this alone before the two of you did something to royally fuck this entire friendship up. A friendship you had spent twelve whole years building. But you can’t drop it. You can’t, you can’t. You’ve waited far too long.

“Tell me. Tell me what she wasn’t,” you demand, face pale and scared. You half wanted to bolt right out of there, your whole body kicking up a shitstorm of fight or flight response which scrambled your thought processes.

All you can see is John, and a second later, all you can feel is John, because his hands had raised to quickly slide across your cheeks. His lips collide clumsily with your own, applying too much pressure and feeling cool and unexpected in the world’s least perfect kiss. But it was John who was giving you it, and that was enough. That was enough.

All your breath is released at once through your nose, hands desperately reaching to curl fingers in the front of his shirt, not letting him go. And he seems to get the message that you wanted this too, because his lips ease up on yours a little, keeping the contact but softer, allowing you to press back gently into the kiss. You catch his lower lip between your own, taste him carefully with nervous movements he matches with his own lips.

And you were kissing.

Not exchanging accidental touches, or leaving chaste pecks against lips and cheek which you’d only ever seen John and Vriska do. You were really kissing, with slow catches of lips and shared breaths heating each other’s skin until the tension drains from your muscles and your fingers loosen on his shirt.

Instead, shaking fingertips trace the curve of his neck, the line of his jaw. Touches you’d wanted to make for years but had never had the courage or opportunity. Touches you couldn’t stop making now as you twist to face him better on the bench, swinging your feet up onto the seat, legs bent over his lap. You can feel his arm slide around your waist, hand moving across your lower back before it hooks against your hip, holding you as he leans in closer.

He was better than you’d imagined, his imperfect kissing having you smiling against his lips. He drags a set of fingers through your hair, and his kisses turn quick, short and desperate, lighting up your insides with all the wanting you’d kept built up for so long. You’d never wanted anything more than this, just for him to love you back.

It was terrifying, the risk of rejection still there despite the presses of his lips and gentle touches. It loomed over you, had you breathing fast against the kiss, scared for it to end in case John realised how much of a mistake this was. But as the kisses started to slow, and you felt him pull back to catch his breath, it takes only a second for you to understand that the rejection wasn’t going to come.

Because he was smiling wider than you’d ever seen, eyes crinkling at the edges and too much teeth and flushed cheeks and _holy fucking shit, you love him._

“Whoa.”

He breaks into a laugh in response, making his shoulders shake under where your hands came to rest. 

“Yeah, whoa, you’re actually pretty good at that.”

“Oh my god, John, shut up.”

Your cheeks were burning with what felt like the fire of a thousand suns, and your thoughts were racing under the weight of what this meant for the two of you. Best friends didn’t kiss best friends like that. 

“I’m keeping you.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, fueling you into moving forward for another kiss to show him that he already had you. Hell, he’d had you since he’d held a hand out for you after tripping you in a game of ball, and there was little you could have done to stop it. 

So you kiss him with everything you had, feel him respond in every suck and press of lips until you can barely contain yourself, your fingers bunching up his shirt and his arm tightening around your waist.

Around you, the empty park sits in silence, swings still unsettled from where you’d both tried to touch the sky. Flickering streetlamps light the darkness, catching two teenage boys exchanging scared kisses for hours on end into the night.

_Your name is Dave Strider, you are seventeen years old, and you can’t believe it’s taken you so long to realise that John Egbert wasn’t your best friend, but so much more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [We are the reckless, we are wild youth.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6I1p_sXflQQ)


End file.
